Quirky Burning Man

/ Curt Mekemson / 4 Comments

This strange 20-foot tall Alice in Wonderland type rabbit is a great introduction to the quirkiness of Burning Man. Photo by Tom Lovering

Burning Man is wonderfully quirky. Want proof? Walk 50 yards down any road.

I love it. Where else can you get a cold brew from a beer tap drilled in to the side of a coffin or discover an army of Barbie Dolls in their birthday suits.

Walking down one of Black Rock City's many roads, I came upon an army of Barbie Dolls in their birthday suits. Who knows what they were up to...

People wear quirky clothes, drive quirky vehicles and create quirky art. Check out the expressions on the fish below and on the Pitch Fork Man. Or what about the Cat Car? Or how about, uh, twin cats???

Murals are common at Burning Man. I love the expression on the striped fish and how the octopus is hitching a ride on the whale.

Pitch Fork Man is the very definition of quirky.

The Cat Car has always been one of my favorite mutant vehicles.

Here kitty kitty.

Naturally, Bone fits right into the environment. Grown men riding around on stick horsies also qualify. We are, after all the Horse-Bone Tribe.

Burning Man is a Bone kind of event. He is definitely quirky. Here, he plays unicorn on a horse's nose.

Grown men playing cowboys on toy horses also qualify as strange.

Here are a few more of my favorite examples of Burning Man quirkiness.

A tree made completely of bones.

The Suave Sphinx.

Desert mirage... a bar with its own outhouse being pulled by a tractor through the remote playa . We climbed on board and took advantage. Photo by Tom Lovering.

Man crashing bike into empty boxes. The boxes were set up specifically for that purpose.

Couch Car.

See through goat with shadow. Note garbage in stomach.

One Tribe focuses on capturing images of Burning Man and then putting them together in photo collages. I thought this collage did an excellent job of capturing the quirkiness of Burning Man.

And of course there is nothing quirky about me. I am the one on the left.

The Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh and Robert Burton: Gurus of a Different Ilk

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The country surrounding Antelope Oregon is as beautiful as it is remote.

We stopped in the Oregon community of Antelope last week and my thoughts turned to the Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh. The town is located in a remote region of eastern Oregon. It’s a cowboy and sagebrush kind of place. Belonging means you display an American Flag out front and a horse out back.

It's a cowboy and sagebrush type of place where water in precious.

The small community is not where you would expect to find people wearing saffron-colored robes and practicing meditation at the feet of a guru from India who specialized in owning Rolls Royce cars and dispensing enlightenment.

But that is exactly what happened in the early 80s when the Bhagwan appeared with his legion of devotees and bought the sprawling 60,000-acre Big Muddy Ranch, soon to be renamed Rajneeshpuram. As might be expected, the two dramatically different cultures immediately clashed with each other.

Not surprisingly, the rural nature of the small community of Antelope as represented by the town's only Cafe and the culture represented by the saffron robed members of the Bhagwan's commune were bound to clash.

The utopian dream of the Rajneeshans ended abruptly in 1985 with the arrest of the Bhagwan, the sale of Rajneeshpuram and the scattering of the flock. Bad things had happened including food poisoning attempts at local restaurants and internal wiretapping of commune residents.

Regardless of the scandals, many of the people who came to Rajneeshpuram to find enlightenment still swear by their experience 25 years later. The dark side of what happened is blamed on overzealous staff, not the Bhagwan.

I have a friend who went off to Rajneeshpuram in the 80s and still retains her commune name and connections today. Her mother and father were initially distraught by their daughter’s decision and shared their anguish with me.  They had pursued their own radical paths as young people, however, and eventually came to accept their daughter’s decision.

Having your own Guru in the 70s and 80s was an in-thing that the rich and famous, young people, and mystically inclined signed up for in droves. Another friend of mind tried to recruit me to the secret world of George Gurdjieff and Peter Ouspensky.

I took her backpacking down into the Grand Canyon once and was eager to share the beauty and isolation of the numerous side canyons. We took a short hike and soon found ourselves in the midst of towering, awe-inspiring cliffs.

M’s reaction was much different than I expected. Dangerous spirits inhabited the area and we were disturbing them. We needed to leave quickly.

On one level, I could understand her unease. In our twenties, we had both been influenced by Carlos Castaneda’s journeys through the Sonoran Desert. Don Juan had taught his young apprentice that mysterious and powerful beings from different realms inhabit remote regions. Some of these beings were really bad dudes, prepared to pounce on the unwary.

Given my African introduction to pantheism, it wasn’t hard to populate the Canyon with spirits. But I had spent years wandering in isolated wilderness areas and had yet to meet a spirit that had caused me any damage, or for that matter, even stopped to chat.

It wasn't hard to imagine the beautiful and remote canyons of the Grand Canyon being inhabited by ancient spirits.

I shared my perspective and was met with a rather cool response. Apparently I lacked the necessary perception to understand the danger. I had the irreverent thought of ‘out of sight, out of mind’ but kept it to myself.

M was serious. After her bout with Castaneda, she had moved from Iowa to Texas where she was introduced to the work of George Gurdjieff and his pupil, Peter Ouspensky.

Gurdjieff was an early 20th Century mystic who taught that the vast majority of humanity is asleep, little more than robots. Given proper training, however, individuals can awaken and reach higher levels of consciousness. I assumed that it was at these higher levels that one became aware of the malevolent spirits.

Gurdjieff called his training the Fourth Way. He, Ouspensky, and other followers set up esoteric schools to teach people the path to awakening.

One such follower was Robert Burton. Burton was working as an elementary school teacher in the San Francisco Bay Area during the 60s when he became captivated by Gurdjieff and Ouspensky. In 1970 he persuaded a number of his acquaintances that he was a person of higher conscious, the stuff that gurus are made of.

By 1973 he and his group had purchased property near the small town of Oregon House in the Sierra Nevada Foothills and were clearing land to establish a Fellowship to propagate Gurdjieff’s teaching and grow wine grapes. M and her husband moved from Texas to California to join Burton in his efforts.

By the time I met M in the late 70s, she had left her husband and Oregon House but was still an avid follower of Gurdjieff and Ouspensky. I suspect she was continuing to financially support and participate in the Fellowship. When she learned of my fascination with Castaneda, she gave me a couple of books on the Fourth Way and suggested that there was a local discussion group I might enjoy joining.

In some ways, I was a good candidate for what Burton was offering. Eastern traditions, especially Zen Buddhism, had a strong appeal. Meditation gave me the same sense of wholeness and connection that wandering in the woods did.

I wanted to believe that humans were capable of reaching higher levels of consciousness, of becoming more civilized in the broadest sense of the word. Self-actualization, to utilize Maslow’s term, seemed like a highly desirable goal and I always had myself on some self-improvement plan or the other. I need lots.

Burton had drawn a number of bright, well-educated and accomplished individuals around him. In ways, his success at recruiting followers was quite similar to that of the Bhagwan. Both had strong appeal to individuals who were seeking meaning in life that they weren’t finding in post Vietnam, post Watergate, super-materialistic America. The acceptance of a Teacher or Guru for help in finding the way was a legitimate and time-honored tradition in many Eastern oriented practices.

Ultimately, I lack the capacity of becoming a true believer, however. Regardless of the appeal, I am not willing to commit the trust required to place myself in another person’s hands. This means I can never quite understand the value that people derive from joining someone like Burton or the Bhagwan.

You have to go there to get it and I won’t make the trip.

Anyone interested in gaining significant control over my mind frightens me, regardless of his or her motivation or whatever benefits will supposedly accrue. The best of folks, from my personal experience and historical reading, have flaws.

Giving someone god-like status hides these flaws… both from the giver and the getter. Rational justification of action is not required. God or Whatever wills it. A multitude of bad things can hide out under this umbrella. Every day brings new examples.

So I had passed on M’s original suggestion to join a discussion group on Gurdjieff and Ouspensky and now found myself unable to recognize dangerous spirits from another realm. I honored M’s concerns, though, and we returned to camp. We spent our afternoon painting watercolors of the Canyon and hiked out the next day.

No bad spirits captured my soul, at least as far as I know.

Is the World’s Best Basic Hamburger to Be Found at Hudson’s Hamburgers in Coeur d’Alene Idaho?

/ Curt Mekemson / 22 Comments

A hamburger can't get much more basic.

We ate at Hudson’s Hamburgers in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho yesterday. Sunset Magazine recommended it as being one of the top five hamburger joints in the West. Turns out it has also been recognized in the Wall Street Journal, USA Today, and Gourmet Magazine.

Coeur d'Alene Idaho is a delightful town to visit.

What make a hamburger so good it is recognized as one of the best in the nation? We decided to find out.

The answer, at least for Hudson’s, is buried in the past. Hudson’s has been in existence since 1907 and apparently its approach to hamburger making hasn’t changed since.

An early view of Hudson's Hamburgers. Note the prices!

A small counter with 13 seats greeted us when we walked in the door. There were no tables. People stood patiently waiting for counter seats.

A view of the limited counter space. What you see is what is available.

How much more old-fashioned can you get?

We lucked out. Two seats on the far end of the counter opened up almost immediately. They provided an excellent view of the action. Staff consisted of three people. Two worked as waiters… taking orders, delivering food, preparing take out orders and serving as cashiers. No credit cards were accepted.

The single cook was a master of efficiency. She created her works of art directly in front of us. There was no separate kitchen. It was public performance without a net.

A large pan of raw hamburger was on her left. She wore a plastic glove on her right hand and held a spatula in her left. She would reach into the pan and grab a handful of hamburger, slap it onto the table, squish it flat with the spatula and flip it onto the grill.

The chef made cooking hamburgers look easy, and made it look like fun.

Options included single hamburgers with or without cheese or double hamburger with or without cheese, pickles and onions. There were no tomatoes and no lettuce much less any of the other numerous additions from guacamole to bacon and bleu cheese we have come to associate with gourmet burgers.

Buns, cheese, pickles and onions appeared precisely when needed. Pickles and onions were cut up almost as fast as the eye could watch… zip, zip, zip, zip. Each hamburger received four pickle slices and one onion slice… assuming that is what you ordered. Which is what we did.

“We’ll have two single cheese burgers with pickles and onions and two glasses of ice tea,” I told the waiter.  He had appeared as soon as we sat down. Later we added a piece of coconut cream pie.

Our cheeseburgers appeared with the speed that would have shamed McDonald’s, but that’s where any similarity with America’s ubiquitous fast food joints ended. We added the three condiments provided (mustard, ketchup and Hudson’s own concoction) and took our first bite.

And then our second and third. I was left with only one question. How could something so simple taste so good? Our total cost for the two of us: $11.03.

Peggy stands outside of Hudson's Hamburgers. Just beneath the restaurant name is the announcement that no credit cards are excepted. Hudson's wants old-fashion money for their excellent old-fashioned hamburgers.

A Touch of the Sacred: The Temples of Burning Man

/ Curt Mekemson / 3 Comments

Each year a temple is built at Burning Man where people go to leave messages honoring loved ones. The temples are burned down on Sunday night releasing the messages to the sky.

The reasons for visiting Burning Man are as numerous and complex as the people who go. For many, a sacred element is involved. One aspect of this is a visit to the Temple.

The Temple is where people go to leave messages for loved ones who have passed on and to give thanks for blessings received. It is also a place for love letters, philosophical observations and whimsical statements. Literally thousands of people participate annually.

The Temple is also a labor of love and one of the most beautiful and unique buildings put up each year at Burning Man. It is burned on Sunday night when the thousands of messages are released into the sky.

I make a point each year of visiting the Temple to read and honor the messages that have been left behind. But I also visit to pay homage to the volunteers who donate thousands of hours and tens of thousands of dollars necessary to build the structure.

The following photos are designed to capture the uniqueness of the temples and the diversity of the messages.

Panels like these covered the temple shown above and demonstrate the care put into building each years structure.

2010's temple resembled a huge sand dune. People gather here to read and leave messages.

The temple from 2006.

This provides an idea of the number and types of messages left at the temple.

Another example of the variety of messages left and how the surfaces of the temple are used.

The following messages I found particularly touching or humorous.

It isn't unusual for people to leave messages about pets.

Or to leave pictures or items such as this guitar.

Fly free, Singer of Songs...

I couldn't resist this message...

A final temple shot. Photo by Ken Lake

Advanced Whip Cracking??? Hey, It’s Burning Man.

/ Curt Mekemson / 9 Comments

There is always something new to experience at Burning Man. Last year, in 2010, this colorful balloon ride was added.

Getting to Black Rock City is always a challenge. First, we have the drive to Burning Man’s remote location in the northern Nevada desert. Upon arrival, we are greeted by a desert traffic jam.

Next, Burning Man makes sure we have paid. A friendly volunteer enters our small RV. Is someone hiding out in the bathroom? Nope. What about under the bed?

At $300 a ticket, give or take fifty dollars, the motivation to cheat is tempting.

But so is the desire to catch cheaters. I can’t help doing the math. Forty five thousand people times $300 equals 13.5 million dollars! That’s a lot of motivation.

While the tickets sound expensive, they aren’t, considering what you get. For me, the price of admission buys a seven-day ringside seat to one of the greatest shows on earth. Others see it as an opportunity to strut their stuff, to live out their fantasies.

Outrageous costumes make people watching at Burning Man a number one activity. The guy ‘looking the wrong way’ helped make this photo. Note the platform shoes on the woman. She wears them well.

A young woman works on mastering the hula hoop while her steed waits patiently. Later she will probably be part of a performance. Participation is highly encouraged at Burning Man.

Go ahead, put on that outrageous costume. People will beg to take your photo. Get out there and prove that hula-hoops are sexy, or that you can twirl fire, or sing, or beat drums, or wear pasties, or whatever.

You may even have an audience. Does it really matter?

Once past the ticket station, we are welcomed to Burning Man. Virgin Burners receive a hug and ring the bell… even in the wee hours. Not being virgins, we get the welcome package: a cheerful greeting, a map of Black Rock City and the Program.

The map is a critical. It shows where the porta potties are. Oh, and it also shows where the major Tribes live, where people can camp, and where Center Camp is located. It’s also the key to finding your friends… or not getting hopelessly lost.

Earlier I blogged about the guy who returned to his camp and found his car, tent and gear had been stolen. He hitched a ride to San Francisco. A week later Burning Man called him. They had found his car, tent and gear… right where he had left them. He’d simply forgotten the location.

Burning Man is that big and that confusing, especially when people steal the street signs for souvenirs, or a dust storm produces zero visibility, or you imbibe a bit too much and it’s 2 o’clock in the morning. Or all three things happen at once.

Dust storms can drastically reduce visibility, not to mention get in your eyes, nose, ears, vehicles, etc. Luna, aka Peggy my wife, bundles up against a dust storm as it roars through Center Camp. Photo by Ken Lake

Having completed our official duties, we zip in to Black Rock City, find a campsite, stake out our territory (literally) and set up camp. It’s time to turn on the walkie-talkies. Other members of the Horse-Bone Tribe will soon be joining us.

Playtime has arrived. If the hour is right, somewhere between 12:01 AM and 11:59 PM, a cold beer is in order. So is figuring out what we want to do. There is a week to plan, or at least the next hour. The options seem limitless.

As I write this blog, I am leafing through 2009’s Program. It is 95 pages long and lists 950 different events participants are invited to attend. They are all free and there is something for everyone.

The breadth of activities is difficult to capture but here are a few examples.

  • Critical Stilts: Stilt walk around the Playa, hitting stilt bars.
  • The Big Bang: The Black Rock City Roller Girls. It’s survival of the fittest on skates.
  • Geology of the Black Rock Desert: Learn about the landforms surrounding the Playa.
  • Lunacy: Honor the full moon by allowing your inner lunatic to emerge.
  • Cat Show and Tell: Share what makes your kitty the most special cat in the Universe.
  • Spudcraft: What will you create: a potato hat or a potato creature? Spuds supplied. (These guys also have a spud cannon.)
  • Rubber Chicken Social: Celebrate the bouncy barnyard fowl. Drink to it.
  • Ask a Physicist: Questions about the nature of reality and modern physics.

If it were possible to choose a scene that represents Burning Man, this might be it: a man on stilts pulls a piano while another guy plays the piano. I forget the song but it may very where have been classical music.

Modern technology, science, and environmental issues are emphasized at Burning Man. One site might feature alternative energy sources while another focuses on cutting edge physics.

Advanced Whip Cracking caught my attention on the Program. I bought a bullwhip once as a joke when I worked in Alaska. I’d break it out on the long dark days of winter to inspire my staff. It amused them. It amused the bank employees across the street even more. Since it was dark, we could see into each other’s offices. The employees would line up at the windows to watch me. Apparently, no one cracked the whip in their office. But back to Burning Man.

The Program lists a dozen ways to practice yoga and a few hundred ways to party. Or you can attend AA. You can write music, or cite poetry, or attend a film festival. Need a costume. You can pick one up for free. There are dozens of venues to view or practice fire art. Like to dance? There are opportunities ranging from the Tango to the Hokey Pokey. Lessons are provided. Parades go on 24/7. Dress up like a bunny or put on your little red dress and parade away.

There are also the adult only activities. They are carefully marked on the Program to protect the innocent. You can learn the art of sensual massage, get naked, or have your body painted. And that’s only a start. I’m much too young to attend such events.

My preference is to check out the visual art, watch and listen to performing artists, play at photography, and hang out with members of the Horse-Bone Tribe. I am also completely happy wandering around and admiring the multitude of costumes and mutant vehicles.

The 2009 Program listed 184 unique works of art created for Burning Man that year. This giant sculpture of a nude woman was placed on the Playa last year. One of my favorite activities is exploring and photographing the art… sometimes from unique angles.

The performing arts easily match the visual arts in Black Rock City. Impromptu jam sessions can be found at Center Camp almost any hour of the day.

A trapeze artist does her thing. Watch out Ringling Brothers. Circus type performances are common.

I liked the bright colors displayed by this troupe of Belly Dancers. I also felt the age range is indicative of Burning Man. All age groups are represented.

While we scatter during the day and again at night, members of the Horse-Bone Tribe always get together at dinner time. Photo by Ken Lake

Walking around and appreciating costumes can be a full-time occupation. This ape was handing out bananas to Burners, or ‘gifting’ as it is called at Burning Man. Photo by Tom Lovering

Volunteering is big. Become a Ranger and help maintain order. Volunteer to pick up trash, or moop as it is called on the Playa. Help light the hundreds of lanterns each evening.  Work as a coffee barista at Center Camp.

Volunteer Rangers. These guys are available to help when needed and patrol Black Rock City day and night. Photo by Don Green

As the evening approaches, volunteer lamplighters gather to distribute lamps to posts located throughout the Playa.

Fascinating at any time of the day, Burning Man becomes a surrealistic fantasy world at night. Fire breathing dragons and fire spouting art light up the sky. Dozens of creatively lit mutant vehicles cross back and forth across the Playa, as do thousands of light decorated bicycles. The glow stick industry must make a fortune. Even people become walking light shows. Dozens of venues along the Esplanade invite exploration. Watch a circus, see Godspell, climb on a giant teeter-totter, visit a maze or gyrate to music. Join a crowd watching a troupe of fire dancers work its magic on the Playa.

At night, Burning man becomes a kaleidoscope of fire and color… a very different world from what we are used to, almost magic. Photo by Don Green

Burning Man is not for everyone. It’s too big, it’s too dusty, it’s too hot, it’s too noisy, it’s too sexy, it’s too alternative. But if anything I have written has appeal, give this extravaganza in the Black Rock Desert serious consideration. Whatever you come away with, you will never forget the experience.

Tired of looking down? Look up. Something is almost always happening in the skies over Burning Man. Here, a sky writer completes the man. Sky divers are also a common site. There are even occasional military jets that zoom over. Hmmm… wonder if they are lost?

If you enjoyed this post, you might want to check out my five reasons for going to Burning Man in 2014.

When Bears Come to Visit

/ Curt Mekemson / Leave a comment

A local bear has been cruising our area on the Upper Applegate River in Oregon. A neighbor caught this photo of him three weeks ago. He's a big fellow. This week he came to visit us.

A large black bear has been cruising our neighborhood. Monday night he stopped by for a visit and had a wresting match with our garbage can.

The garbage can lost.

I could tell by the garbage strewn around the yard and the claw marks on the side of the can. The can now lives in our shed. I’m hoping the move will solve the problem. So does the can.

Hiding inside doesn’t always work. Kori Titus, a friend out of Sacramento, noted on my Facebook page that a black bear broke down the door of an acquaintance living at Lake Tahoe and entered his kitchen.

The thought of a bear breaking and entering our house makes me think of a thick bear rug to keep my toes warm on cold winter nights.

“Do you have a weapon?” my neighbor Tom asked worriedly. I should warn the bear. This is rural Oregon. The folks around here have guns, lots of guns, lots of big guns.

Have you ever come across a large pile of fresh bear scat. It's enough to make you wish you were elsewhere. Our friend left this behind. Bone provides perspective.

I’ve had numerous encounters with bears. Leading backpack treks in and out of Yosemite National Park for years guaranteed contact. Once I woke up at 4 AM with a bear standing on top of me. His snout was about six inches away from mine. I screamed and vacated the premises. Fortunately, he did too.

The big fellows in Alaska worry me more. A grizzly stalked me when I was leading a backpack trip across the Kenai Peninsula.  I had checked with a friend in the forest service before going. He warned me that a large grizzly was working the area and had treed one of his rangers two weeks earlier. The fall before a black bear had bitten through the sleeping bag of a woman ranger and wounded her leg.

Our group made lots of noise when hiking through the region. A forest service cabin provided shelter that night. There would be no biting through sleeping bags. I figured we were out of the woods, so to speak. But one of my Trekkers wanted to go for a hike the next morning. I offered to keep her company.

We were on our way back when I heard something big moving though the brush on the side of the trail. “What’s that?” my companion gasped. We looked down and saw the distinctive hump on the back of a grizzly. He was moving parallel through the brush, stalking us.

“What do we do now? Run!?”

She was a marathon runner and fast. I wasn’t. I suggested we turn around, walk over a bridge we had just crossed and find a tall tree. If the bear appeared we would climb the tree. Quickly.

An hour later there was still no sign of the bear. We hiked back to camp holding hands. She had an iron grip. A mouse in the brush would have sent us fleeing.

I also had an encounter with an Alaskan Brown Bear. These are the monsters of the bear world that National Geographic likes to feature. I’d flown into Katmai National Park located at the beginning of the Aleutian Peninsula. The area is known for its remoteness, unusual volcanic features, trophy size trout, and Alaskan Brown Bears. The last two go together.

The bears have competition. Fishermen come from all over the world to try their luck. Human-bear encounters are inevitable. A park ranger greeted us upon arrival and explained proper bear etiquette. If you have a trout on your line and a bear shows up, cut your line. If you meet one on the trail, talk to it and slowly back away. “Talk to it???”

I managed to meet my first bear on my first evening. It wasn’t large by Brown Bear standards… only about one and one half times the size of a grizzly. But the trail was narrow. I still remember our conversation.

“Um, good evening Mr. Bear,” I stuttered respectfully. “I am an American, just like you. If you are hungry, I understand there is some great Japanese food on the menu. Or you might want to try the German.”

The bear stared at me for a long two minutes, barked a growl of annoyance and wandered off in the opposite direction. I didn’t hear any Japanese or German fishermen screaming that night. All’s well that ends well.

So I have a fair amount of experience in dealing with bears. Will this help me with our nighttime visitor? Probably not but I’ll keep you posted.

Mm, mm good. Our neighbors with the night camera have a compost box that the bear finds particularly fascinating. Note the metal around the box. He couldn't get in through the sides so he went in through the top.

Burning Man’s Black Rock City: A Remote Desert Becomes a Community of 50,000 for One Week

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As we were waiting in a mile long line of vehicles to enter Burning Man, a rainstorm hit. The vehicles were stopped to protect the desert floor and people got out to dance. And then we saw this incredible rainbow. It was a magical moment.

Black Rock Desert is located in the remote northwestern corner of Nevada just a few miles east of the small town of Gerlach. Normally it’s as quiet as a tomcat on a mouse hunt.

But not on the Monday before Labor Day Weekend.

Thousands of cars, trucks, vans and RV’s clog the local roads and create a traffic jam that would make Los Angeles proud. Vehicles are packed to the brim with people, tents, food, water, bikes, costumes, mutant vehicles, cameras, building material, camping gear and things that glow in the dark… everything that is necessary to create a city of 50,000 and survive for a week in the desert.

Burning Man is underway.

For a brief week, Black Rock City becomes the third largest urban area in Nevada. Only Las Vegas and Reno can claim more people. Then it’s over. People break camp, pack their vehicles, and head back to wherever they came from.

The Black Rock Desert returns to the peace and quiet.

The following photos are designed to capture a sense of what Black Rock City and the remote Black Rock Desert look like.

The evening sun bathes the surrounding mountains at Burning Man in soft light...

...And lights up the clouds.

The flat playa that serves as the home to Black Rock City is in stark contrast to the surrounding mountains. This photo features our friends Ken and Leslie Lake along with their shadows. Ken, or Scotty as he is known on the playa, is wearing his kilt.

By Friday, Nevada's third largest city is three days away from disappearing.

Mega dust storms are a common occurrence and can create close to zero visibility. The mutant ship and giant slide seem like a mirage. Photo by Don Green

In 2010, the Man included a high viewing platform. This view is looking out across the playa toward the distant mountains. The temple, built to look like a sand dune, and the 'urban' structures beyond are destined to be burned during the week.

This photo is taken from the platform looking back toward Black Rock City. The dark line on the left is porta potties. They are found throughout Black Rock City in the hundreds.

My telephoto provides a closer perspective.

A final view of 50,000 people camping out together at Burning Man.

A Rabid Wolf Wandered through Camp: The Wind River Mountains of Wyoming

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The Wind River Mountains of Wyoming are a premier destination site for backpackers. A number of years ago I took six months off to backpack various locations in the western United States and added the area to my itinerary.

Mountain men were there first.

Place names such as Sublette County, Fremont Lake and the Bridger Wilderness recall these larger than life characters who were kept busy between the 1820s and 60s pursuing beavers, exploring the west, keeping their scalps, serving as guides, working as frontier entrepreneurs, and, in the case of John C. Fremont, running for President.

Many were also great storytellers and participated enthusiastically in the creation of their own legends.

One of the most popular locations for weaving tall tales was the Annual Fur Rendezvous that brought the various trappers together with suppliers out of St. Louis.

Six of the Rendezvous were held near the small town of Daniel, which is located on the Upper Green River 11 miles from Pineville. I stopped by and tried to imagine what the river valley would be like filled with over 1000 trappers, Indians, suppliers, missionaries, and wayward journalists.

The Mountain Men pursued their dangerous and often lonely profession during the winter when the fur pelts were at their best. The two to three-week Rendezvous in the summer was an opportunity to sell their furs, catch up with friends, gossip and resupply for another winter. It was also an excuse to party.

‘Whiskey,’ pure alcohol watered down and then flavored with tobacco, was passed around in a cooking kettle. Horse racing and shooting contests soon deteriorated to drunken debauchery. Old journals report the results.

One new guy was baptized by having a kettle of the alcohol poured over his head and lit on fire. A rabid wolf wandered through the camp and bit people at will. Several trappers were witnessed playing poker on a dead man’s body

A contract between William Ashley, the creator of the Rocky Mountain Rendezvous, and the trading firm of Jedediah Smith, David Jackson and William Sublette listed some 50 different items to be delivered to the Mountain Men.

Many of these items such as gunpowder, lead, beaver traps, and butcher knives related to their work. There were also cooking kettles, flour, sugar, allspice, dried fruit, coffee, grey cloth, and washing soap for every day living. Some items such as beads, ribbons, rings, bracelets and calico were probably trade goods for the Indians

As one might expect, ‘fourth proof rum’ (80 % pure), regular tobacco and the more high quality Smith River Tobacco were included for long, lonely nights. Slaves were producing the Smith River Tobacco in Virginia at the time.

Reviewing what the Mountain Men carried with them into the mountains led me to look at my own backpacking list. It appears life is more complicated today. My list contains over 60 items and I rarely travel for more than seven to ten days without checking back into civilization!

But then again, the Mountain Men apparently didn’t worry about such niceties as toilet paper and toothpaste, not to mention maps and reading material. They also shot much of what they ate.

Wednesday’s Blog: “There’s a Beaver Standing on My Tent.” I have my own mountain man experience.

The Old Church B&B, a Ghost, and a Lonely Grave: Part III

/ Curt Mekemson / 9 Comments
An early sketch of John Brown the Martyr of Priesthill Scotland being shot down by Bloody Clavers.

An early sketch of John Brown the Martyr of Priesthill Scotland being shot down by Bloody Clavers.

THE LONELY GRAVE

I first heard of John Brown the Martyr of Priesthill in the late 60s.

My dad arrived home from a reunion with a family tree that traced a branch of our family back to the martyr. Given the staunch Presbyterian leanings of the ancestral Mekemsons, it was an important connection.

My Great, Great, Great Grand Father, James Mekemson, married Mary Brown Laughhead Findlay. (Mary had already seen two husbands die.) John Brown was five generations up the line.

The story of John Brown’s murder verges on legend. He was, as the saying goes, a Covenanter’s Covenanter, a very devout man. Reverend Alexander Peden, one of the top leaders of the Covenanter Movement, described him as “a clear shining light, the greatest Christian I ever conversed with.” High praise indeed; the type you reserve for a man who is killed for your cause.

They say that Brown would have been a great preacher, except he stuttered. Leading Covenanters visited his home and secret church services were held there. Important meetings took place.

Alexander Peden stayed at his house the night before Brown earned his martyrdom and warned of dark times. Peden was something of a prophet when it came to predicting dire events. This time he was right.

Brown was out gathering peat with his nephew the next morning when soldiers led by John Graham of Claverhouse appeared out of the mist and captured him. The date was May 2, 1685.

Claverhouse, or Bloody Clavers as the early Presbyterians identified him, was the King’s go-to man when it came to eliminating Covenanters. He was not noted for his compassion.

He took Brown back to his home and demanded that he swear an oath to the King in front of his wife and children. Brown started praying instead. The legend states that Claverhouse ordered his soldiers to kill Brown but they refused. So he took out his own pistol and shot him in the head in front of his family.

The story then goes on to describe how Brown’s wife, Isabel Weir, went about the yard collecting pieces of her husband’s brain. (I don’t mean to treat this lightly, but somehow I can’t help thinking about a TV episode of Bones.)

The family eventually escaped to Ireland and then moved on to North America where it settled in Paxtang, Pennsylvania.

This shot of Peggy captures the isolation of John Brown's Grave, the white speck on the upper left of the photo.

John Brown’s appearance on our family chart in 1969 immediately caught my attention. Not too many families can claim a certified martyr. When I became serious about genealogy three years ago, I determined I would go to Scotland and find his grave.

Our arrival at the Priesthill Farm with its disappearing woman meant that we were near. A faded sign pointed off to the right. The fine print suggested we would find the grave in a mile. We went wandering out across the grass-covered hills, following a muddy path that was minimally marked.

We were beginning to despair about out chosen route when we crested a hill and spotted the lonely grave in the distance with only sheep for company. We hiked down the slope, jumped a small creek, and arrived. After paying proper homage to the martyr we climbed above the grave to where he had lived. Only a few stones marked the site. Peggy photographed me standing in his house, near where he had been shot down on that misty morning in 1685.

Looking down on John Brown's Grave.

I am standing on a rock that may have been part of John Brown's home, only feet away from where he would have been shot.

Our ‘pilgrimage’ completed, we left Muirkirk and drove east to Dumfries where I visited the local genealogical center. The next day we returned our car to Edinburgh and took the train to London. Our visit to England and Scotland was over. Between our visit to Chatsworth, adventure on the narrow boat canal, exploration of Edinburgh, tour of southwestern Scotland and search for ancestors, we had a full three weeks. We we had enjoyed the Midlands of England, we fell in love with Scotland. We’ll be back.

Next Blog: Back to the wild west… There’s a beaver standing on my tent.

The River Nith flowing through the heart of Dumfries.

A final view of southwestern Scotland.

The Old Church B&B, a Ghost, and a Lonely Grave: Part II

/ Curt Mekemson / 10 Comments

A ram we passed on our way into Priesthill. Nothing ghostly about him.

THE GHOST

Here’s today’s question: Do you believe in ghosts?

My childhood experience of growing up with a graveyard next to our house introduced me to ghosts. They were worrisome but mainly a product of my young imagination. My sister Nancy, on the other hand, believed in them one hundred percent. (See my blog “Mr. Fitzgerald Is Dead” under Misadventures.)

The visit Peggy and I made to Fort Mifflin, Pennsylvania last fall looking for information on the two Mekemson boys who died there during the Revolutionary War provided another experience. Scary! Did something really blow out the hurricane lantern leaving us alone in the dark? (Check out “The Mekemson Ghosts of Fort Mifflin” in Looking for Dead People.)

My first actual sighting of a ghost would wait for Priesthill, however. Maybe. Ghosts tend to be, um, Ghostly.

Priesthill is an old Scottish sheep ranch, dating back to at least the 1600s. This was the time when Scottish Covenanters had gone ‘off the grid’ with their Presbyterian Church and held services out in the open fields hidden away from the prying eyes of the English King and his henchmen. Armed men were posted around the perimeter in case the soldiers came.

Getting caught wasn’t much fun. You could lose your sheep, your cattle, your land and your life. You might find your body quartered and hung up in various communities to provide an example of why you should be a good Anglican.

Priesthill was one of the remote sites where the hidden services were held. To get there we drove north on the road in front of our B&B (the Old Church B&B in Muirkirk, Scotland) for a couple of miles and picked up a dirt road snaking off to the right through a sheep farm.

The road seemed to go on and on; recent rains had turned it into a muddy mess. Our brand new Mercedes rental car bounced along dodging sheep and accumulating glue-like mud mixed with sheep dung. It was still on the car when we returned it to Edinburgh.

Finally the old farmhouse came into sight. A woman was standing on a porch enclosed by a three-foot high rock wall. Since we would be walking through her property in search of John Brown’s grave, I got out to talk with her.

But she did something strange. She disappeared. Now this was strange in two ways. Obviously she didn’t want to talk with us. She turned her back and walked rapidly toward the door.  OK, I could live with that even though we had found most Scots to be friendly and helpful. Possibly she was shy.

What bothered me more was she sank.

It was like she was traveling down an escalator or open elevator. Her head disappeared beneath the stonewall before she reached the door. I did not see her go inside.

“Maybe there are steps down to an underground cellar,” I thought. Or maybe she merely bent over to work on a flower garden. Curiosity got the better of me. I walked over. There was no woman; there were no flowers; there were no stairs. As far as I could see the floor of the porch was solid stone.

I asked Peggy, “Did you see that woman disappear?”

“She went inside,” my logical wife explained.

“Ah,” I said and put the matter out of my mind. Or tried to, it kept nibbling away at me. A couple of days later I asked Peggy if she had seen the woman appear to sink into the porch.

“Yes,” she replied.

“Did you actually see her go in the house?”

“No,” was the answer.

So I rest my case for a possible ghost… or optical illusion. The owners of Old Church B&B know the owners of the the property. Maybe they can find an answer.

Saturday: Part III, A Lonely Grave